“Indeed, New York, from brother Benjamin! I haven’t heard from him in a long time. Mother and I were just talking about him and wondering if he had forgotten us. She’ll want to hear the news, and I had better go right back to the house,” and he started, carrying the letter and papers in his hand. It was but a few minutes’ walk, and he was soon home. “See here, mother, a letter from Ben,” he said, starting to tear it open. “Is it possible!” she exclaimed, with considerable surprise; “we haven’t heard from him since his wife died. He is no hand to write, and I’ll warrant it is news of importance; probably sad news, or we wouldn’t hear from him now. You remember he never wrote us that Glen (his only child) was born until he was two years old. Of course he wrote during that time, but never mentioned that fact, and it was so strange, since he always writes so much about him now, when he writes at all.” By this time the letter was opened, the spectacles adjusted to his nose, and Mr. Brown began to read: “My Dear Brother and Sister— “You know how difficult it is for me to write, and I am sure you won’t think strange because of not having heard from me before. I often think of you both, and have frequently resolved to write, but have neglected it until days, weeks and months have slipped away. I am in deep trouble now. You know that ten years ago the company set me back to flagman. The wages for such a position are very low; I have been able only to live and keep the family, and have found it impossible to lay by anything. A year ago an accident, a collision, occurred in the yards between a couple of switching freight trains. It was charged to me and I was ‘laid off.’ Perhaps I was to blame. I worked long hours and was very tired. I am getting old, anyway. My eyes, and faculties as well, are getting dim. Since then I have had no work, and have employed my time about the garden and with my poultry, out of which I have made a little. “But Glen, though only sixteen, had completed school, and had also learned the glassblower’s trade in the factory here, and with my pension and what little I could earn was able to support me and keep the house up in good shape, so I did not feel badly. In my old age I felt I had earned a rest, and Glen, noble boy! was satisfied, and insisted that I should have it. But now, just as he has his trade well learned, and had, as we supposed, the means of gaining a livelihood through life for himself and a way of supporting me in my old age, improved machines were introduced into many of the larger factories, that almost entirely displaced the glassblower and absolutely ruined his trade. They were not put in the factory here, but it was seen that the factory would be unable to compete with the machine-equipped factories, and that they must put them in or close up.